


In The Space of A Heartbeat

by Inhibitedmonochrome



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Friendship, Heartbreak, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25239679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inhibitedmonochrome/pseuds/Inhibitedmonochrome
Summary: What happens after the 5 year mission."I can still have my ship back. But the Enterprise isn't my Enterprise-" Another deep breath, "if you aren't on it."Sometimes it takes time for 2 souls to realise what they have known all along.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 22
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a story I started back in 2016, took a long hiatus on, and then came back to finish in 2020. It is complete and I will post a new chapter every week. I promise it has a happy ending.

The first sliver of sunrise hits Jim Kirk's curtains with a determination to bathe the room in light that no one wants to see in the wee hours of 5am. If Jim were a typical Starfleet cadet, this would probably elicit a groan of some kind and a definite denial that the day has started, but _Commodore James T. Kirk_ is well and ahead of the sunrise and has been sitting at his computer for the past 2 hours. It's not uncommon for Jim to start his day this early, but with the recent attack on Tolia and the ensuing chaos that erupted in Command, he's whittled his rest down to slim hours and the repercussions are starting to catch him up. Fleet reports are still coming in, although not as thick and fast as they did in the initial 24 hours after the attack. Mostly, they're making the transition to evaluation reports from old men on the ground who are just as clueless about how the attack was pulled off, but have the experience to smoke their way through a 20 page consolidation of recommendations on protocol changes.

Jim rubs his face roughly and abruptly stands from his desk; it does not seem like any conclusions on Tolia will be coming forth anytime soon, and he really should start washing up to look like a 'Fleet officer becoming of his rank. He strides quickly to his bathroom and eyes the largest piece of furnishing—funny how it is that Starfleet thinks a Commodore will need a full sized bathtub any more than the next cadet, but it is how it is and he's learnt to pick his fights with the Admiralty. The bathtub isn't anything, really, but the ostentatious carved faucets and graceful arch of the clawfoot tub feet may as well represent everything Jim has traded the life of a Captain for. 

_ His ship… _ Jim snaps back to his reflection in the mirror and quickly splashes ice cold water over his face. It would make no _logical sense,_ as an old friend used to say, to think about matters that can't be changed. The face towel bears the brunt of unspoken frustration, as Jim scrubs his cheeks with undue force. With a swipe at the freshly laundered white turtleneck folded on the side of the sink, and the tap still running, Jim quickly pulls on his uniform. The red vest, with its array of medallions, weighs down on his shoulders as he buckles it on. It is, still, the only clothing he carries in his wardrobe.

He steps back into the study of his apartment and grabs his coat, out of habit more than anything else. The temperature isn't as biting as it was a few months back. "Computer, transfer reports-in-progress on Tolia to Fleet Ops, my office." The machine, slightly too sluggish for his patience, takes a few seconds before chiming out, "Transfer completed." He steps out of the door and heads towards Starfleet Operations, breathing in the crisp morning air of San Francisco.

\---

Fleet Ops is buzzing with activity—it being any other way would surprise Jim. He weaves through the crowd with experience; a year in this place and still, he is greeted by handshakes from flag officers and open adulation of fresh faced cadets who have no place in Ops but make a trip here just to perhaps, get a glimpse of Jim Kirk, former Captain of the USS Enterprise. He really could do with a strong cup of coffee right now.

Yeoman Green looks particularly busy this morning at his desk, which isn't to say he's ruffled, but he spots Jim from a distance and holds up a hand in greeting with a slight grimace that tells Jim it's going to be a few minutes before Green will be done with the call he's currently engaged in. Jim gives a nod of acknowledgement as he passes, and steps into his office. It's fairly spacious and comfortable, but Jim doesn't care for a workplace this _quiet._ The murmurings of busy men beyond his door does not change the fact that he cannot feel a hum beneath his feet, and that the stars are above him rather than around.

The coat that proved to be redundant is thrown over the coat hanger he installed beside the door. "Computer, call up all unread communications." His terminal at Ops processes commands instantaneously, being a far more upgraded model than his personal one back in his apartment. Settling into the office chair, Jim sifts through dozens of lines of impersonal text. A part of him still keeps his eyes open for familiar names. Cheerful greetings from a young Russian, or perhaps from a hearty Scotsman, or a warm Japanese, or a Vulcan. Mostly, he looks for vocabulary choices more emotionless than that of Weapons calling for further discussions on acquisition and procurement. Words revealing more feelings than they should by definition, only because he knows the individual behind them. An " _indeed_ " catches his eye, but the actual communication proves to be disappointing. A knock on the door interrupts his daily routine.

"Come in, Green." The door slides open, but the face outside the door isn't the one he expected. He quickly snaps to attention and salutes.

"Good morning, Admiral. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Admiral Mackenzie makes a vague wave to indicate that he may be at ease. Jim slips around his desk to the opposite side, allowing his CO the seat behind the desk.

"Well, I have some news, Kirk," Mackenzie begins, as she takes the vacated seat. One can never tell if such a statement is positive or otherwise, but taking into account Tolia and all related events over the past week, it's a valid extrapolation to expect bad news. Jim chooses not to reply and tilts his head a fraction to the side.

"Sit, please. There's really no need for the formality," Mackenzie sighs in exasperation. Jim hesitates, because there was a time not too long ago when his relationship with his CO was on the icy side, but it seems she's done with the awkward level of professionalism they keep around each other. He seats himself down, and Mackenzie steeples her fingers.

"I've been moved to Command, Archer's office," Mackenzie leans forward to look Jim straight in the eye. "I expect you'll be hearing about a promotion within the day. 'Fleet's never been known to take long."

Reaction comes slow to Jim, even though his mind has registered what has been said and everything it implies for his career. There's not been an Admiral who's headed a deep space mission, and he vaguely considers the possibility while his higher cognitive functions white out. Loss isn't something he's ever handled well. He chokes out a grunt of acknowledgement, and he knows it's insufficient response to such an announcement, but it's the best he can manage to get out right now. The Admiral sweeps him over with an assessing glance, and her mouth twitches as though she is about to say something, but thinks better of it and looks over Jim's shoulder instead.

It is slightly less than a minute before she stands and gently places the tips of her fingers on Jim's clenched fist. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I tried my best, but the Admiralty stands firm on this. I'll still be around for the next two days, you know where to find me." She gives it a moment longer before withdrawing her hand, nodding acknowledgement to a response that wasn't given and heading to the door.

Just as she's one step out of his office, Jim croaks out, "Who…who's her captain going to be?" He swivels round on his chair and stares at her back like a predator waiting to pounce.

"Word is they intend to ask for your recommendation," she quietly replies without turning around. "They'll take a while to ratify it, but the Admiralty knows what it will take to keep you grounded at Ops. Your word will go through." He's not sure how much of a relief that should be, knowing that even if he cannot be in that command chair, he can choose who will captain his Enterprise. Not much, at this time. He nods slowly, and even with her back turned to him, the Admiral knows he has heard and whispers, "Take care, Jim," before assimilating with the steady flow of people outside the door.

Jim turns back to his desk, the name plate proclaiming _Commodore James T. Kirk_ in obnoxious gold lettering facing him. He sweeps it off the table and listens for the heavy clunk of metal on carpet, and it does nothing to soothe his mind. He slowly lowers his head to the glass surface, arms dangling towards to the ground, limp. They've got him this time. As a Commodore, he may have been able to delay promotion while in deep space, or at least have ratification postponed till post-mission. The Admiralty knows the game as well as he does, and maybe it was foolish, but a part of him thought the brass would understand the yearn for deep space that they've all held before. A part of him, the part that does not believe in no-win situations, protests that there may be a chance of him gaining back his ship just yet, but deep inside he knows, he's lost her forever.

_ Just like Spock. _

Head still down, his fist meets the desk with a solid thunk. A whole year later, and thoughts like these continue to come forth, and it seems he will never be able to forget. Grieving for what is lost, he has realized, does not just fade away. At some point in every day, the memory of that day unfurls itself in his mind unfailingly, accompanied by throbs of aching sadness that only grow sharper with time.

" _Kaiidth."_

" _No. Not this time, Spock, not again."_

_ Spock still hasn't looked up to face him. Jim's fury, tightly wound, barely harnessed. _

_ Spock murmurs, "It is only logical. My emotions are unbecoming of a Vulcan, and I seek Kolinahr as the most optimal option, Commodore." To any other man, his tone would be a dead monotone, but Jim is Jim, and Jim reads through the carefully selected words to the underlying message of, You draw emotions out of me, Jim, and I am not sure of who I am anymore. _

_ That appears to be the final straw, and Jim's anger rushes out in a voice of cold, cold fury. "You know how I feel for you. You know. Let's stop pretending you don't, Spock, and let's stop pretending I don't know what you feel either." _

_ He pauses, takes a breath, and sighs. "Sorry. I'm not...It's not you I'm angry at. _ _Spock_ , _Starfleet is everything to me. Duty calls, and I take it on, because I know no other way. They want me to be a Commodore, I will be a Commodore, but I don't have to be happy about it, and being unhappy with duty is not a crime, Spock. It's not the first time a Commodore will put in a request to command a starship, it's been done before. I can still have my ship back. But the Enterprise isn't my Enterprise-" Another deep breath, "if you aren't on it."_

_ Spock's breathing has become laboured, and finally he looks up, face stoic but eyes betraying desperation that he has no hopes of ignoring for logic. "Jim." And the use of his name is more telling than anything else, and Jim knows that what comes next will be the end of this conversation. _

_ But nothing comes forth, and instead, Spock turns for the door in a run that is certainly too fast for any human to match. Jim hears a strangled gasp coming out from himself, and why aren't his feet moving, dammit, and he is seconds too late when he starts giving chase. Spock is already out of the main building doors. _

_ Spock is already gone. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one of my faves because, Bones. Thanks for the kind kudos you guys!

It is precisely, as Admiral Mackenzie predicted, 8 in the evening when an urgent communication notifying him of his promotion comes in, and even though Jim knows what must be contained within the message, he still holds his breath. That is how, when the message is opened and his eyes scan the brief, impersonal text—"… _the Admiralty would like to congratulate you on your well deserved promotion"—_ he is only left with letting out a small huff of air as a response.

It is true what he told Spock a year ago, that his duty to Starfleet holds above everything else he has known in his life, but he considers, briefly, what would happen if he were to submit his resignation to the Admiralty. His reasons for joining Starfleet have been tempered over the years, but the passion remains a steady flame. Jim has hardly had cause to contemplate the reasons for his tolerance of Starfleet's occasionally excessive decision making processes and often arrogant vision, and when he finally realized that Spock had somehow wriggled his way into becoming Jim's raison d'être, it was already a few months too late.

Jim heaves a heavy sigh and grabs a few more files from the cabinet to his left. Work will help his mind pull back from thoughts that are entirely too emotionally laden for a day like today. He quickly flips open the largest binder, the one labeled "Tolia" with pocks of indentation from the way he stabs his pen into the plastic each time updates on the attack reaches his ears. He's certain Yeoman Green's security clearance level is nowhere near that required to access files on Tolia, but with what the media has managed to make of the whole torrid affair, he wasn't surprised to hear Green exchanging a few words on it with Captain Willard Decker in the afternoon.

Pulling up all relevant reports, Jim begins to go over them once again. This attack is one that makes sense for any party intending to send a threat to Starfleet, but Jim can't shake off the feeling that he's missing something. So, despite the fact that his evaluation of the attack has already been sent up to the Admiralty, he persists in looking for that fracture in his own logical assessment that will give him the insight he needs.

Tolia is known for its reserves of Cabrodine, but so are about 15 others in the quadrant. Tolia is, perhaps, the most isolated planet with a source of Cabrodine, which is why the Admiralty isn't as concerned as it usually is with attacks on sources of explosives. Jim notes with a dry laugh that the relatively isolation and lack of patrols around Tolia may also be the reason the Admiralty cannot, in fact, raise an alert higher than yellow—there simply aren't the logistics to go to red. Warp signatures have been traced, and the _terrorist_ , as the media has termed, appears to be headed for the Andorian system, where patrols have been readied for interception and arrest of the parties responsible. The matter has been clearly wrapped up, but Jim's mind refuses to let him rest.

"… _attack compromised Cabrodine's Southern mine's structural integrity, attacker left with one barrel of Cabrodine. Neither witnesses nor casualties reported, surrounding area left unharmed,"_ concludes the assessment he is currently glancing through. The tone is almost self-congratulatory, the way Starfleet gives itself a pat on the back for there being _no casualties,_ despite their failure to protect a member of the Federation from an attack that could have been much more severe. Cabrodine, in a single barrel, would hardly cause a dent on any planet, which is what disturbs Jim because really, why go to the trouble then? He's already raised this to the Admiralty, but there are regular Klingon incursions into the Neutral Zone, trade deals with planets that could significantly boost Starfleet's available resources, at least two other calls for negotiations on the new trade route to be set up that the Admiralty's attention has already been diverted from in the past week, so Jim is left with a irritated statement of " _gut feeling is not an emergency, Kirk, and neither is paranoia_ " and none of the Admiralty's support.

The beep of his communicator jolts Jim out of his musings. He flips it open and greets with a standard, "Kirk here."

"Jim, you son of a bitch. Planning to tell me about it anytime soon?" comes the rough voice of Leonard McCoy.

It's just like Bones to find out anything and everything, and Jim's hardly surprised, but exactly because this is Bones, he replies, "Lo, Bones. What plans?" He can picture the glare he should be at the receiving end of right now, and the pause on the line tells him things are probably playing out exactly as he's imagining.

"So, promotion huh? Bet Starfleet's going to use this to push back all that Tolia fuss I've been seeing on the news," comes the reply, and of course Bones would know not to use his new title on him. It's been entirely too long since he's heard the gruff voice of his friend.

"Pretty much. Where's my congratulatory liquor?"

There's a short bark of laughter on the other end. "Well, it's gonna be my place, firstly because I ain't got the transport and you do, secondly because I'm not up for smuggling Romulan ale into Starfleet." Jim clearly remembers the last time Bones brought Romulan ale over back in their cadet days because it "can't be that hard to handle", and he also remembers nothing of the next thirty-six hours thereafter, except that he woke up on the floor of his bathroom stark naked with a message history that told him that he sent out communications to all his professors discussing how boxers had potential to change the way Starfleet operates.

He sincerely hopes Bones is kidding him, but he knows that expressing this would simply egg him on, so he says, "I'll be over in about ten. Get your pants on before I appear. Kirk out," and flips his communicator close.

\---

It's actually seven minutes before he's in front of a door labeled "Leonard McCoy, LtCdr." He raises a hand to knock, but the door slides open before his knuckles hit to reveal Bones lounging in a room significantly smaller than his own, feet propped up on the table.

"Got my pants on, so now tell me, you want the scotch or brandy because that Romulan ale got lost somewhere," Bones huffed out. "Tell me your crazy plan for getting the Enterprise back first, so I at least get a head start on preparing all the damn hypos."

Jim chooses to ignore the second half of that sentence and hopes Bones will drop it, and walks over to pour out the scotch that's on the table. He turns to pass Bones his drink, and meets a questioning eyebrow with a steady look that clearly says he would rather pass on the conversation.

It says something about his state of mind, that Jim would even try at getting past Bones like this, and sure as hell, Bones says, "What, so we're just leaving it at that? Don't think I've ever seen you more submissive to superiors, not since that last incursion on Deeta. They had some pretty wicked alcohol, pity the people were the same way. Come to think of it, I may have a bottle left somewhere around, may have brought it back down to old Georgia.” Bones looks down at his drink, takes a sip. “Spock would agree with me, you know."

Jim knows what Bones is playing at with the name dropping, but he's tired with the week and tonight is not the night for conversational acrobatics, so he drops into a chair and replies, "Yeah, maybe. It's a good job."

Bones leans forward and steeples his fingers, eyeing Jim with an evaluative look that sees entirely too much, before heaving a sigh and saying, "Not the same ship without him, huh? Not worth fighting no longer, is it, Jim? You knew him best, Jim, but I know you best, so don't deny it."

And Jim would like to protest against this, heavens forbid that _Jim Kirk_ give in before a fight just because one Vulcan took his leave, but his mind whispers to him, _It's true, isn't it,_ and he can't find it in himself to struggle in a battle he has already lost. Because the day Spock left after a hushed spoken name, Spock took the person it belonged to together with him, and the Jim that would have fought his way back into Starship command on pure charisma and an attitude that the world will give him what he damn wants hasn't been around for many long months.

He raises tired eyes to meet Bones', and quietly, "I knew him best, but there is still too much I don't know."

"You could ask," Bones eyes tighten at the corners, because he said it himself that he knows Jim best, so he also knows that Jim _can't._

"Bones, if I could, I would have asked many things, but he's gone off in pursuit of pure logic, so no, I can't really."

Bones has always had a short fuse, and this one has been burning for some time. He snaps out, "Dammit Jim. You know that's not what I'm talking about." And Jim gets it, because the last 3 months before Spock left, he told himself the same thing a million times, _You could ask._ But there's a world of a difference between _could_ and _should_.

"It wouldn't have lasted. We'd have burnt ourselves out before we even started, I would have been saying too much, and he would have said nothing. The best command team Starfleet has ever had, and we worked out the way we did because he didn't always explain himself and I always trusted that he would know to tell me what I should know. I've never expected to know him best, and maybe that's why I did end up that way, but if there's one thing I needed to know, it was this. He wasn't going to say anything, Bones, and I wasn't about to make it easier for him to say nothing." Jim feels that took a few years off of him just to say, but he knows it would have taken more to keep it in.

Bones looks down into his lap, and his gruff voice is coloured just a little more gently when he mutters, "Hope that green-blooded hobgoblin knows this all is his damn fault." Jim's mouth tilts in a sad smile at Bones, because although Bones has always been ready to protect him even when Jim doesn't want it, he knows this time Bones is thinking the same thing as Jim. That hopefully now, Spock is, at least, content.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spock POV! Who else has been waiting for this moment??

A faint dry breeze shifts grains of sand at Spock's feet, while the man himself sits motionless, in meditative posture, between two sand dunes of the Vulcan desert, backed by the orange of the setting sun. It has been more than one Terran year and less than one Vulcan year since Spock set foot on his home planet once again after 18 years of absence. Once upon a time, it would have been unthinkable for him to be this approximate with the passage of time, but those on the path to Kolinahr have no need to concern themselves with the days past and gone. In an odd contradiction of philosophy, to release control of the memory of one's earlier years, and the expectation of one's future, is but one ritual towards the eventual control over emotions.

Jim, Spock thinks, would point out the awkward false dichotomy and highlight how _not_ following protocol sometimes leads to a better outcome than protocol intended, almost certainly at the times when his impulsive command decisions go against everything his Exec recommends. Spock sees the cheeky smirk of Jim Kirk at the edge of his thoughts, a remnant of his memories that will continue to be lost every time they are recalled, processed, and then laid to rest. At the last meditation session, Spock absolved himself of the guilt he has held since leaving Starfleet, or more accurately, Jim. He and Master Sivek knew, then, that he was ready to begin his final ritual to Kolinahr.

This will be his final meditation before he submits to a mind-meld with Master Sivek. He pulls down the last traces of his mental walls, seeking out the vestiges of his past, to understand, experience, and remove all emotions attached to his memories. A slight slant of the eyebrows when Spock says something so logically driven it appears to amuse, a glint in hazel eyes just before setting off on new mission orders, the fond caress of the leathered command chair in the centre of the bridge, a hundred-watt smile directed at Spock—Spock feels it all: the memory of a love so freely given, of respect and regard above and beyond that deserved by Spock.

Spock, with his limited ability to comprehend one Captain's willingness to more than accept one Vulcan for who he is, slowly unravels the threads of emotion and sweeps them away. He feels the weak tug from the atrophied bond tying him to a human with a smile brighter than sunshine, and knows it will be severed as he becomes _Kolinahru_. In the last ritual, he will shed the last of what makes Spock, _Spock_ —his name, and his bondmate. He is ready.

\---

Jim wakes up with a disorientating lurch off the edge of Bones' couch, the familiar pound of hangover and too much reminiscing at the forefront of his mind. He vaguely recalls the last thing he heard from Bones ( _"hell no, you're sleeping until you choose to awake, and I don't own an alarm clock in any case."_ ) and shuffles over to the study desk, where a breakfast plate of slim pickings consisting entirely of leafy greens and moderated carbohydrates has been set up. Jim grimaces at the lack of saturated fat, and glances at the note beside the plate, on which " _Don't you dare attempt anything else from my synthesizer, I've programmed your diet card for the rest of the month"_ is scrawled. Jim chuckles; Bones is often more like a mother hen than a CMO, and Jim can imagine the hypothetical glare he would receive in return for making such a statement.

A glance at the chronometer shows it is eleven in the morning, which adds up to a solid eight hours of sleep for Jim, exceeding his total resting hours for the past week. He makes a mental note to check his communications soon—it's a Saturday, but then again he's not sure newly promoted Rear Admirals follow a schedule with any resemblance to a regular nine to five work week. Quickly shoving the salad into his mouth and washing down the disgustingly healthy flavor with a glass of orange juice that managed to survive Bones' medical purge of his diet card, he proceeds to the bathroom and has a sonic shower at a temperature short of freezing. The shower is fast and entirely for the purposes of chasing away the melancholy that fringes his memories of last night, and Jim quickly starts his day while his mind remains clear. He scribbles a word of thanks to the back of the note Bones left before heading out to Admiral Nogura's office to set up an appointment with his new CO.

\---

"Well Jim, how's it going," says Nogura when Jim steps into his office later in the day. Before Jim can reply, he continues with, "I'm surprised you left the office early yesterday. Word is that Commodore Jim Kirk was almost permanently stationed at Fleet Ops this week."

Jim narrows his eyes slightly. He's certain the Admiral is aware of the implications behind the use of past tense together with his old title. He regrets not having coffee this morning, because he cannot be slow in his thoughts when conversing with an old Admiral known to be almost three steps ahead of everyone else. He chooses to say nothing, channelling his inner Leonard McCoy by stubbornly holding his silence until the other party chooses to reveal his true intentions. The lack of caffeine in his system proves to be costly, because Nogura is this high up on the chain of command for a reason, and it certainly isn't for a lack of ability to match stubborn new Admirals point for point.

Finally, Jim realizes Nogura has no intention of letting him get away without a response, so he replies, "Yes, well. Figured I'd take a break before the promotion really kicks in," which isn't the best come back in existence, but he'll take what he can get.

"About that, there's been a backlog of approvals and proposals given the nature of the change in job deployments. They've been waiting for the new Chief of Starfleet Operations to be ratified so his signature's recognized. Somehow, always core to Starfleet, aren't you Jim?" Nogura replies with a quirk of the mouth.

Nogura doesn't ask questions, he make statements and orders, so Jim is almost certain that was more of an attempt at psychologically tying him to Starfleet rather than true rhetoric. It could also hint at something more, but Jim isn't sure what, and he supposes he can only wait till Nogura chooses to bring it up.

"I will get to that immediately, sir," he attempts a vague response. "If that's all, may I take my leave?"

"You're dismissed, Admiral Kirk," Nogura smiles up at him, without standing to usher him out of the office. Jim prepares to walk out with slight confusion that he doesn't allow to show on his face.

"By the way," comes a sudden interjection from Admiral Nogura that is surely, in no way an accidental coincidence with the moment Jim's feet hit the ground beyond Nogura's office. "I'm giving you full operational control of the refitted USS Enterprise's mission orders." It is an unexpected offer of command control to Jim, and it is not lost on him that he is currently in a position where he will be the puppeteer of the future Captain of the Enterprise. While not in the slightest bit comparable to actual starship command, it's the closest one can get to it while stationed at 'Fleet HQ. Jim's defences immediately kick in, because he knows Nogura doesn't offer carrots where there is no exchange to be made, and yet he cannot cede ground by appearing entirely clueless.

Jim turns and warily probes, "And?"

"That is all, Admiral. You may leave," is the unexpected rejoinder. Jim firmly clamps down on his bewilderment and the tiny spark of hope, quickly salutes Admiral Nogura, and attempts to exit the office in a manner that does not seem like desperate escape. He puzzles on the bizarre exchange the entire way to his new office on the highest floor of Fleet Ops, while another part of him vaguely contemplates the possibility that the brass intends to somehow eventually reinstate a Rear Admiral to starship command. It sanctions a lightness to his footsteps that has not been there since he stepped off his ship and into the shoes of a flag officer.

_ James T. Kirk, V. Adm. _ The lettering on his door plate causes his thoughts to screech abruptly to a halt. He scans the nameplate once more to be absolutely sure the Admiralty has just boosted him up to Vice Admiral, and succeeds in establishing that he's been played by Nogura on the first day he's back in Fleet Ops since his promotion. It's another few seconds before Jim can bring himself to step into the room, throwing himself into his new office chair with enough violence that the seat groans in protest. This here, he realizes entirely too late, is the exchange for his carrot, and he feels the weight of the week slowly draining the remaining energy from him. Slumping into the backrest, he contemplates just how much the Admiralty will be willing to compromise to force him into this seat, because to push Jim to accept a double promotion within two days tells Jim that the brass is either deluded or superbly confident he will accede to their requests

" _Somehow, always core to Starfleet, aren't you Jim?"_

Jim rubs his face wearily, because although it's taken him this long to see it, he's fairly confident he's ascertained the source of his uneasiness at that statement from Nogura. That Starfleet offered him the closest position possible to starship command _before_ he was aware of what it cost him forces him into a situation where he cannot make further demands, because the Admiralty can now simply hide behind their earlier show of compassion with a _Sorry, Jim, we gave you what we could,_ thrown into the mix.

The truth is, Jim understands where this is all coming from. No Captain stays a Captain forever, and it would be a waste of manpower resources to keep command personnel from ascending the ladder to flag officer rank. It doesn't help at all that he understands this, doesn't change the way his breaths are sharp and his fists are clenched.

_ They want me to be a Commodore, I will be a Commodore, but I don't have to be happy about it, and being unhappy with duty is not a crime, Spock. _

Jim shuts his eyes as the efficacy of the cold shower in the morning wears off and he is plagued by memories once again. He still remembers that day in full clarity; he could have attempted to command Spock to stay, but pulling rank isn't something he does. It's ironic how with the recent turn of events, he is more than qualified to call for a temporary lock down that would have made that attempt a hundred times more effective in keeping Spock beside him.

_ Duty calls, and I take it on, because I know no other way. _

Jim abruptly snaps his eyes open and calls up his files on the computer. Duty, he thinks, may become the only reason he accepts the manipulation, and it's almost laughable how _wrong_ the Admiralty is. The illusion of command of the Enterprise is not going to be the reason he stays, because as of a year ago the ship became nothing more than a metal hull and the flavor of bittersweet memories, and he's only ever told one man why.

But there's work to be done, because newly promoted _Vice_ Admirals don't follow a schedule with any resemblance to a regular nine to five work week. Jim picks up the first folder of the stack on his new desk, an approval request for a new shipment of Trellium D. Duty calls, and he can only take it on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never read the TOS comics, so if Nogura is OOC please forgive me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt very nerdy writing this lol

It is early on Vulcan—the sand is still milky white under moonlight. A half-Vulcan rises from his seated position to greet Master Sivek with the Ta'al. When the salute is returned, they both seemingly flow smoothly into meditative positions on the platform of the highest point on Gol. It is a sacred area, one which Spock is allowed to enter only for this final stage of attainment of Kolinahr. Master Sivek gently rests his fingers on Spock's psi points. It is time to unravel the bond.

The bond is what brought Spock to Gol, and took Spock away from Jim. Spock remembers the day he discovered the unintentional connection one afternoon after the Enterprise had returned from her five-year mission. It had already been half-formed by then, the signs of telepathic communication were showing, the emotional transference clearly felt by Spock whenever Jim spotted him in a crowd. Spock remembers feeling an unbound sense of joy, but he no longer remembers the feeling itself. He also remembers experiencing a rush of panic upon that realization, because inexperienced hands like Spock's would not know how to hold onto a flame that bright without reducing it to embers.

Spock and Jim were two polar opposites—there was no logic to their compatibility, and even less logic to the emotions that ravaged Spock for the next two months after. A friendship of five years, a conflict of identity of forty. It was odd how the years came out to be of almost equal weight in Spock's consideration. It will take but one day to take apart what took five years to build. Spock feels the bond beginning to fray.

\---

Monday crashes into Starfleet like a hurricane without grace. It is highly unfortunate that it is the start of the week, because after the lull of casual Sunday news and gossip columns, the reporters are only too hungry to sensationalise another attack of a Federation planet. It is also unfortunate that the Chief of Starfleet Operations was not informed of this before entering the Fleet Ops building, and while Jim manoeuvres around microphones stuck into his personal space, he makes a mental note to push forward his recommendation for a review of Starfleet's information communication system, because the current one is clearly inadequate.

He brisk walks the last stretch to his office, quickly signalling his new Yeoman in. A thin-lipped lady well into her forties, she gives him a nod to indicate she will be with him soon and proceeds to prepare his coffee.

"Jones, what do we have this morning?" Jim mutters distractedly while pulling up his unread communications. Yeoman Jones sets a steaming mug on his desk before checking her planner.

"Sir, there's an emergency meeting with the Admiralty at 1000 hours on the attack on Coutarie, a conference with Chief Engineer Kyle of the USS Farragut on refits at 1400 hours, and a lunchtime engagement with the governor of Picult, but I'll have to get back to you on the timing of that appointment. Engineering is calling for some approvals for materials to prepare for the Farragut refit," Jones systematically relays the schedule for the day.

Jim pinches his nose with a groan, because a meeting with the Admiralty before lunch means _lunch_ isn't actually going to happen. He instructs Jones to reschedule his midday appointment and thanks her for the coffee. Glancing at the chronometer, he lets out another groan, because he has slightly less than an hour to prepare his report to the Admiralty and has not even been briefed on the details of Coutarie. It doesn't help that he already knows what to expect for the rest of the week after the gigantic mess that was Tolia. Jim considers actually submitting to that physical Bones has been nagging him about, because after another week of sleep deprivation, he could legitimately need it.

"Computer, patch me through with Commodore Robert Wesley of the USS Lexington," Jim instructs while turning to the side to pull out some folders on the Andorian system. He takes a big gulp of coffee and rifles through reports and charts, finding only a short two-page reference on Coutarie. It appears to be a small planet on the edge of the system, which hardly makes it a likely target for an attack, and Jim cannot help but consider the connection between two attacks on small insignificant planets, made within ten days of each other. The instinctive jump in logic, originating from his Starship command days, encourages the gut feeling that the attacks are somehow linked.

Commodore Wesley's weary face appears on-screen. Jim takes another drink from the coffee mug before setting it down and greeting the Commodore with a salute that is swiftly returned.

"Commodore, report."

"Oddly enough sir, there is not much to report. An unknown vessel entered the system under heavy cloaking technology. The Farragut was alerted to unauthorized entry to Coutarie's Infernite wells at 0500 hours. When we arrived to the site of the distress call, the intruders had already made off with a barrel of Infernite. There were no witnesses—patrol guards claim to have had no impression of the fifteen minutes between when the alert was sent out and when we arrived. The Farragut's Science Department suspects psychic activity was involved. That is all," says Commodore Wesley.

Alarm bells begin ringing in Jim's head—he knows deep down there is no denying that the attacks on Tolia and Coutarie are related, but he has no solid evidence for this. One barrel of Cabrodine and one barrel of Infernite, two attacks with no witnesses, no casualties, and seemingly no clear motive. A sneaking suspicion creeps into Jim's mind, and he recalls snippets of a particular approval request.

" _Chemical safety data sheet: Infernite (65% composition, explosive, class 7 substance), Cabrodine (35% composition, explosive, class 8 substance)…"_

"Hold the line, Commodore."

It is familiarity with similar situations of making connections based on intuition that propels Jim to automatically call up multiple information sheets, research articles, and scientific journals. He scans the various documents, eyes darting quickly between different pieces of information, focusing in on the details that will lead him to a conclusion that he already knows is correct.

_Synthesis requires highly complex procedures…_

_A single ounce is sufficient to cause significant neurological impact…_

_Exact amounts of Cabrodine and Infernite…_

_Involves high levels of radiation…_

_Extremely toxic to Vulcans…_

It takes a disproportionately long time for Jim to pull any coherency out of himself. Five years of being the Captain of the Enterprise, and Jim knows how to keep a clear head in the face of utter chaos like the back of his hand, but this _isn't_ chaos. This is knowing about chaos without being within it, and Jim doesn't know the appropriate instinctual response for a situation like this.

One name tears through Jim's mind, pure adrenaline and intense fear, and Jim knows for the first time, how helplessness feels like.

\---

In the burnt orange of Vulcan desert, cracks from the edge of a platform of Gol move in towards the two forms seated in the centre. A Master of Kolinahr experiences a psychic attack like none he had ever known before, and this extreme psionic activity will become an anomaly so well known in the academic world that it will capture the interest of Vulcan experts for decades to come. Master Sivek tears his hands away from Spock's face, his fingers tinged green and tingling.

Spock's eyes snap open, a light of desperation clear in their depths. His voice is hoarse with lack of use, and thick with emotion when he whispers the one name that wiped clean his efforts of the past year.

" _Jim_."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much is about to happen, you're not even ready for it

"Admiral Kirk. I will not approve an unnecessary request to send a flag officer into space."

Jim eyes Admiral Nogura challengingly. He can't say he didn't expect the rejection, but it is difficult to maintain his patience when his whole being screams to be at warp and doing something, anything, to intervene in an attack on Vulcan. Nogura is a formidable obstacle he will have to get around, and Jim reminds himself that it is critical he plays his cards right. Anger would only be too easy for his CO to sweep aside.

"Sir, with all due respect," and Jim is aware that such an opening can only indicate that whatever follows will be nothing but disrespectful, "the request is not unnecessary, nor is your approval required. By Starfleet Order 104, in the absence of a Starship's assigned Captain, a flag officer has the authority to assume command of the starship should they have deemed it necessary. Sir, as per my recommendation made this morning, the commander of the USS Enterprise is Captain Willard Decker, who unfortunately came down with a case of viral infection originating from Melvaran mud fleas. As I have operational control of the Enterprise's mission orders, I have deemed it necessary for myself to assume command."

There comes a cacophony of cries of incredulity from Admirals on all sides, and Jim notes with satisfaction the twinge of annoyance Nogura lets slip. He has to admit that this is one of his more ingenious plans, and there's something to be said about tripping up one's CO after said CO did the same to Jim two days before. Jim wants to give the man a smirk, but he promised Bones that his involvement would never be suspected, and after everything his friend has done, from sneaking a sedative into Decker's morning coffee to injecting a hypospray of the vaccine for Melvaran mud fleas into the Captain, Jim owes him at least this much.

"You are aware, _Vice_ Admiral Kirk, that I can force you down from active service?" Nogura says, and the emphasis on seniority is not lost on Jim. He knows this is the logical consequence for _any_ Starfleet officer presumptuous enough to attempt to manipulate the Admiralty, and Jim is anything but stupid—his plan was intended to simply impress upon the brass his determination. He understands very well that there is no guarantee his request will actually be put through on determination alone, but it is a gamble he is more than willing to take.

It is soft, clear, and intense when Jim replies.

"Yes."

He hopes Nogura remembers, and meant, what he said. _"Somehow, always core to Starfleet, aren't you Jim?"_ Jim knows that Starfleet views him as a valuable asset, and the reason for this is clear to any cadet, ranking officer, and flag officer on the street. Yet, the truth is that Jim hasn't forgotten the lives of crew members who passed under his Captaincy, nor has he forgotten the impressive professionalism of his old command team, and if anyone were to ask him why Starfleet holds him in such high regard, he would answer with an honest puzzled shrug.

Seconds elapse with the length of hours as Nogura considers him with an evaluative look that he refuses to shy away from. Jim can feel the weight of the risk he has taken, because despite what Admiral Nogura said before, it is _Starfleet_ that is core to _Jim_ , and he would very much like to stay in service. It was after Spock left that Jim realized that, it is really Spock who has been the centre of his life, and it was only after their life expanded to include more than the Enterprise that Jim suddenly found himself losing balance. It is the only reason he is willing to gamble on this.

"Your request is approved. Admiral Kirk, you are dismissed."

\---

The first of his crew to descend upon Jim is Pavel Chekov, and this is one man whose open adulation Jim will willingly accept.

"Keptin on ze bridge!"

At Chekov's announcement, all the bridge crew rise to stand at attention. Sulu greets him with a wide smile, "Good to see you again, sir. I'm looking forward to our sparring matches in the gym."

Uhura's greeting is simpler but with just as much warmth. "Welcome back, Captain," she says with a smile.

It is, apparently, a good time for Scotty to appear, and Jim's Chief Engineer walks out of the turbolift muttering, "…and I told them, I cannae have cores not primed and ready, but-" Scotty spots Jim and his frown spreads into a grin. "Captain! Aye, bout time they send someone who actually understands engines on this ship."

Jim chuckles heartily and greets everyone, asking about what they have been up to since their last mission. It was just last night that Jim put in the request for his old bridge crew to be reinstated, and while it was an uncomfortable situation to make another demand of his CO after a mere twelve hours, it was substantially more unpleasant for Nogura, who got the opportunity to inform Jim Kirk that since a year ago, the entire bridge crew had put in requests to be deployed where the Admiral was operating. Standing on the bridge of the newly refitted Enterprise, it is almost as though no time has passed for Jim. Almost, because the lack of one man makes it entirely different, but Jim reasons that he is on his way to do what he can to undo the situation, and it is temporarily an acceptable attempt at eviscerating his fears. He caresses the arm rest of his command chair, and just as the material and build of the chair is foreign to him, Jim feels like a man back home from his travels, who recognises the smell of his ship and the hum of engines beneath his feet, but cannot reconcile what he sees with what he remembers.

His musings are interrupted by Sulu's report of, "Captain, space dock cleared, thrusters at your command."

Jim takes a moment to feel the change in the hum of the ship.

"Punch it."

\---

An hour into warp, Jim calls for a meeting of all senior staff. "Everyone, this mission we are on is not going to be an easy one. Starfleet has evidence towards a potential attack on Vulcan with the use of synthesized Trellium."

At this point, Jim pauses for the information to sink in. Most, if not all, of the senior staff know Spock, have served under him at some point, and from their horrified faces, have also found Spock to have been a respected comrade.

"Based on reports of the attacks on Tolia and Coutarie, the enemy we are facing is very technologically advanced, with superior cloaking devices and psychic technology or abilities. We are going to have to be careful in our approach. As you should know, Trellium is highly toxic to Vulcans; an entire species is at stake here. We cannot fail."

Jim notes the determined faces in front of him. Professional as they are, he is always confident that they will put in their best on a mission, but he needs more than their best on this mission, and it is infinitely gratifying to know that they are willing to give all they can to this.

"Our ETA is twelve hours. I want departmental reports in fifteen minutes. Let's get to work. Dismissed," and with a clap of Jim's hands, the various senior staff disperse to carry out the Captain's orders.

Jim sees Bones approaching instead of leaving the room, and he supposes it's about time anyway, after successfully missing his friend on the bridge, for this confrontation.

"James T. Kirk," Bones says once the last of the crew has left the room, "so this-", and here he jabs a finger into Jim's chest, "-is how you let me find out."

And Jim knows Bones is rightfully pissed this time, so he shuts up and just takes the tirade that is about to come upon him.

"An 'emergency', you told me, so I helped you get your damn ship back, and you think you couldn't have told me earlier that this 'emergency' is actually _Vulcan_. Only now, do I find out we are intercepting psychics and cloaked vessels and whatever else, and this involves an attack that could get my _friend_ and your-", at this point, Jim interrupts Bones, because whatever follows would not be anything Jim would want to hear.

"You don't want to finish that, Bones," Jim says quietly, but Bones is not done and does not take kindly to being interrupted when pissed. He gives Jim a look of anger with lips compressed and a muscle twitching.

"Are we still going to ignore it? Dammit Jim, it's time to admit it, this whole mess is killing you. When was the last time you ate?" demands Bones.

Jim, with his head bowed, replies softly, "Bones, do you really think I can stand to eat right now?"

And just like that, all anger drains out of Bones, because if he is honest he knows exactly how Jim feels, and he has no CMO himself to remind him to take care of his health. He grips Jim's arm firmly, and says, "He's going to be fine, Jim."

"You can't promise that, Bones. You can't," Jim replies, and the look on his face when he glances up is something Bones knows he will never forget, so wrought with despair as it is. It isn't like to Jim to express his fears so openly, and Bones knows he must handle this situation with care, lest Jim clams up for the rest of the mission.

"Let's go get dinner. Come on."

Bones gives it a few moments before guiding Jim out of the room with a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder.

\---

"Captain, we are receiving a request to board from an unnamed shuttle," reports Uhura midway into Alpha shift.

"Check for any transmissions that can help us identify it, Lieutenant Commander," Jim orders after a moment of consideration. It's odd, certainly, but nothing too absurd when in space.

There is a pause, and suddenly Uhura's face morphs into a look of consternation. "…Sir, it appears to be manned by one individual." At this, she turns to fully face her Captain. "Jim. It's Spock."

And it is like Jim's world, which fell apart a year ago, is rebuilt and then torn down again within seconds, because he has never forgotten, of course he has never forgotten, but he has learnt to live with it. Now that Spock is within reach once more all Jim has evidence towards is that Spock will eventually leave again, and Jim is not ready to take another blow, has not truly recovered from the last one. Questions run through his mind, _why now, why here, why not before_ ,and above all, there is really one question that Jim wants an answer to: _Will he stay?_

He has been silent for too long, Jim knows, and Uhura gives him a look of understanding.

"Grant access to the shuttle. I'll meet it on deck 18, landing bay 3," Jim says with as much professionalism as he can muster. The bridge crew all know it is not protocol for the commander of the ship to leave the bridge to greet a landing shuttle, but they also all know why Jim himself must be there, and send silent well wishes with nods at their Captain.

Jim stands stiffly from his command chair. His heart pounds, his fingers seem to have lost all feeling, and butterflies in his stomach is too mild a metaphor for use right now. He quickly walks jerkily over to the turbolift.

"Sulu, take the conn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg omg omg omg
> 
> sorry for the cliffhanger, the next chapter is coming out really soon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're so awkward with each other omg.

Jim swears he _doesn't_ tremble the whole way to the loading bay. He's stiff as a board, and crewmen look at him oddly as he makes his way through the busy hallways to deck 18. He wants to be prepared for the imminent meeting, to be assured in himself before coming face to face with his former First Officer, but his heartbeat is a locomotive that's not running along tracks and James T. Kirk is legitimately freaking out for the first time since joining Starfleet.

All too soon, Jim is standing in front of the doors to loading bay 3, and one button will remove the single barrier between him and the man on the other side. It takes a full ten seconds for Jim to lift his hand to the button, and another twenty to muster the courage to push it. But before he can complete the arduous task of opening a door, said door slides open and a very familiar Vulcan almost walks straight into Jim.

_Oh god…_

Two pairs of eyes stare unwaveringly into each other. The silence that envelops the two is deafening, hollow with unsaid words, bound by each man's absence in the other's life for the past year and Jim feels all too much. A corner of his brain occupies itself with the contemplation of touch telepathy working across centimetres of air, but the majority is wrought with longing.

It is Spock who breaks the silence. A slowly raised Vulcan salute accompanies a greeting of, "It has been some time, Jim." Jim almost laughs at the absurdity of it all—that is the greatest understatement he has ever heard. There was a time when he would have responded with a smile and a "Welcome back, Mr Spock", but four words carry more weight than they seem to the average listener, and Jim isn't sure if the warmth would be reciprocated.

Instead, he responds with, "Good day, Science Officer," and if it comes across as more bitter than he would have liked, Jim makes up for it with a face so neutral that Sarek would be proud. Spock feels a stirring from within, a subconscious protest against how this is playing out, but a year of Gol has left him at a loss when it comes to interpreting his own emotions, and Spock takes a long while to consider them—time enough, it seems, for Jim to pull himself together.

"I will see you on the bridge for Beta shift, Mr. Spock," Jim says, and there is a pause. Then he firmly turns on his heels and walks away with clipped steps. A part of Spock's mind makes a headcount of each footfall, as his eyes track a familiar back withdrawing further and further from him. Like remembering how to ride a bike after years of not having been on one, it suddenly comes to him in a rush of understanding, that the silent protest before can be labeled as _hurt,_ and the current tight pressure in his chest is _regret_.

He thought it was hard turning away from requited love before, but Spock realises regret is more potent than hurt, because all at once his world is turned upside down, and he has to know, it is his own hands which are responsible for this. When what was once offered is rescinded, Spock realises, the ghost of what _could have been_ tortures with more finesse than he could have ever predicted.

\---

Jim returns to his quarters, intent on completing work a month in advance to tire his brain out until contemplation isn't a bodily process he is capable of, but he is hardly a few minutes in when the Enterprise's CMO storms in without warning of any kind.

"Jim, what's this I hear about _Spock_ coming on board?" Bones exclaims incredulously.

Jim sighs and rubs his face wearily. He isn't ready to think, much less talk, about the events of the past one hour. "Yeah, he just popped up on the radar. Bones, can we leave it for today?"

And in all honesty, Bones knows why Jim wants to avoid the topic, but he has known Jim for more years than anyone else who still currently exists in the Admiral's life, and this will be one of the times when he is going to give Jim what is good for him instead of what he wants. Jim needs to get things off his chest, Bones is sure of this, even if Jim himself isn't. He walks over to the cabinet at the end of the room and pulls out a bottle of Saurian brandy along with two glasses. Perched on the edge of Jim's desk, he pours out a finger of alcohol for each of them.

"What did that hobgoblin say when you met?" Bones asks lightly while passing Jim a glass. The question is anything but casual, but Bones knows Jim isn't ready for the conversation to match up to reality, so he acts as though it is.

"Nothing much. He's always been on the quiet side," Jim replies reluctantly. He throws back the drink offered, then purses his lips around thoughts he hasn't quite formed into words. Bones gives a non-committal hum of acknowledgement, and waits, because experience has told him that silence draws Jim out more than talk will.

"Told me it's been 'some time'. I said I'd meet him on the bridge later," Jim continues predictably, and reaches out for more liquor. If Bones is going to push for this conversation, Jim figures he could do with more alcohol than less.

Bones raises an eyebrow, because that is just about the most impersonal response he has ever known Jim to give. Jim is very clear about what his charisma can do to most people, and doesn't hesitate to use it for smooth conversation, which, in the case of a conversation with Spock, Bones would classify as _flirting_. In the many years on board this ship, Bones has never known Jim to _not_ exercise charisma in the presence of Spock, and it is a warning siren in Bones' mind that Jim has done away with it today.

He pours out another two fingers for Jim, and says without looking at his CO, "Never known you to be so cold, Jim."

The calm before the storm breaks. Jim takes another big gulp of brandy, and says, "It's been a year. I'm not sure he's the same man anymore, Bones. Year ago, we knew each other so well, it's almost like I could read his Vulcan mind." Here Jim laughs bitterly. "Turns out we didn't know our own selves well enough, two men estranged from their families, it's a situation set for an identity crisis. Spock went off to find his own logical self back home, and I was left here not knowing what's left of myself."

Jim's staring straight ahead at the computer screen, and Bones, still on the edge of the desk, glances down. Hazel eyes are a bit brighter than they should be, but then Jim blinks, shakes his head, takes another gulp of brandy and it is gone.

"He's back, but I can't convince myself he'll be doing anything but leaving again. Maybe he knows better, who he is, after whatever he was doing this whole time. Maybe I've figured out what I'm really doing all this-", Jim makes a sweeping gesture at the quarters, "-for. But for all that self-awareness we've gained, we've traded off our understanding of each other. I couldn't read him today, Bones. Not at all." The last part is said so quietly Bones almost doesn't catch it.

Bones circles the rim of his glass with a finger, Jim's words running through his mind. "There's a reason Spock's back. Maybe you should ask him," He says thoughtfully.

There is a clink of glass meeting table, and liquor sloshes out of Jim's glass. "Hell no, last time I asked him something he ran out of my life for a year." If there's one thing Jim's learnt in the past year, it's that he lived a pitiful pretense of a life when Spock was gone. It has taken too much just to bring them together again, and Jim is determined to not let this pyrrhic victory go to waste. If it takes clamping down on his feelings, so be it—he's determined to do it anyway. Jim doesn't actually see any other option here, and he'll take silent yearning over total loss of a Vulcan's company, any day.

Bones tips his glass towards Jim, and says, "I sure hope you know what you're doing."

Jim finally glances up to look Bones in the eyes.

"I hope I do, too."

\---

It is 5 hours into warp when Chekov turns from his station to face Jim and says, "Keptin, according to my calculations, the 'ostile vessel's trajectory does not angle into Vulcan orbit," slipping up his pronunciation on the V's of the sentence.

"And why is that so, Lieutenant?" Jim leans on one arm of his command chair thoughtfully.

There is some hesitation from Chekov. "It seems the vessel is set to impact Vulcan head-on, sir."

Sulu, who's been listening in, exclaims, "At that speed, they'll burn up in the atmosphere! They will never make it!"

A horrifying thought occurs to Jim right this moment, and he slowly swivels around to look over at his Acting First Officer. Spock is looking his way too, mouth tense at the corners, eyes betraying a fear he cannot express.

Jim says in a hushed voice, "Yeah, they won't."

They take a few seconds to gather themselves, because Starship command means plunging on even when the odds have suddenly turned vastly against you, but in those few seconds a nauseating sensation settles in Jim's stomach and he honestly has no idea what the plan should be.

"Uhura, get me Engineering." Jim snaps into command mode.

Uhura reacts instinctively to the authority of her CO and briskly gets to her task. "I have Mr Scott here, sir."

"Mr Scott! I need to push us to Warp 8," Jim says authoritatively.

There comes an indignant splutter from the other end of the communication. "Captain, I cannae push her past Warp 6 without risking overheating the nacelles. 6 is the maximum safe Warp speed, sir!" Scotty has always been overprotective of his engines, which is why Jim knows he can push the Enterprise further without bringing her down.

"I need Warp 8 immediately, Chief Engineer. This is an order," Jim replies neutrally.

"But Captain, sir…" Scotty trails off, and there is a pause during which Jim can imagine the man struggling between his love for the ship and his duty to Starfleet. Scotty doesn't disappoint.

"I will have us at Warp 8 in two minutes, sir," comes the reluctant reply.

"Thank you, Mr Scott. Kirk out."

Sulu cuts in at this point and asks, "Captain, what is the plan?"

Jim grimaces. "The enemy intends to self-sacrifice, Lieutenant Commander. Trellium will not vaporise even at such high temperatures. The threat remains, and has grown. We will have to intercept them before they can enter Vulcan's atmosphere."

Upon hearing this, the entire bridge crew turns to glance at Spock, who has remained silent this whole time. The Vulcan is bent over his Science station, but Jim can see the subtle tightness to his shoulders. Jim would like to help his friend right now, but the bridge is not a private enough location that will allow the continual association of sacrosanct logic with First Officer Spock in the minds of the crew. Emotional compromise, Jim is aware, could very well be a reality in this situation—and not just from Spock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just how much do I love angst???


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock and Jim have a long overdue conversation but are still complete idiots.

It is late into Alpha shift, yet Spock has yet to rest. The past hour of meditation has been unfruitful. Spock has heard his Captain make commands in the face of impending disaster many times over their five year mission, but it strikes him that there's something different in the orders that were made this time round. Even through the fuzzy panic that envelopes him in a way that should never happen to any Vulcan, a part of Spock's compartmentalised mind realises the commands lacked the usual aplomb with which they are delivered. They are firm, but tinged with panic and an odd sense of regret, and Spock, for the life of him, cannot understand why.

He can understand the urge to save a species; they have had that responsibility one too many times. He remembers that mission on Paloma V, on which imminent seismic movement was predicted to wipe out the entire population of locals. It turned out that the planet's inhabitants were in tune with the Zeitgeist of the era of witchcraft and blamed the Enterprise and her crew for bringing destruction upon their homeland. Amidst the retaliatory attack on the Enterprise, there was one order that her Captain impressed on the crew, even while he himself was moribund due to a poison dart that was lodged in his abdomen: that regardless of the lack of appreciation, their singular goal was to ensure the safety of a species. So no, the situation with Vulcan is not an unfamiliar one.

Yet Spock remembers no personal anguish coming from the Captain in such missions where the lives of an entire population weighed on Jim's shoulders. He is not sure what the differentiating variable is here, but he hypothesizes that it is of an emotional nature. The easier method to obtain an answer would be to seek out his Captain, Spock knows, but he has hesitated for the better part of an hour. While Spock would deny it, some would call the Vulcan _stubborn_. At this point, the time wasted so far proves a good enough rationale to get up and head to the Captain's quarters.

It is fifteen minutes later when Spock knocks on his Captain's door. There is an odd sense of trepidation that feels ancient in Spock, a remnant of the time when Vulcans were still ruled by emotions. He has many questions tonight; he has had more than many questions over the past year. His journey to seek Kolinahr, while intended to be a search for answers, has only left him with more—and he doesn't phrase them as _doubts_ , certainly not—questions than ever before. As much as time has its regular passage, the past year has most illogically felt longer than it really was, extended and pulled apart at the ends by the lack of ability in Spock to find solid ground beneath him. He has many questions tonight, but for odd reasons, many questions no longer seem so daunting now that he is standing in the Enterprise.

A memory surfaces, vivid and clear in the mind of a Vulcan.

" _But the Enterprise isn't my Enterprise—" Another deep breath, "if you aren't on it."_

Spock briefly considers this. While he has never attached such an emotional quality to his references to the ship, it makes him uncomfortable to associate the Enterprise with just a bulk of metal, and Spock cannot quite ascertain the reason for this discomfort.

Before Spock can continue the train of thought, the doors to Jim's quarters slide open. Jim is sitting on the edge of his bed—standard Starfleet-issued, complete with crisp white bedding. Spock catches the look on Jim's face, and it is a mix of things that Spock cannot find apt vocabulary to describe. They are silent for a while—Spock realises that since his arrival back on the ship, their interactions have been predominated by silence. There is too much to say, and not enough words to give justice to everything they want to express; A silence locked by the threat of too many thoughts. Spock ponders the metaphor. He has a feeling—no, he _knows_ , that tonight that lock will be broken. What is unleashed can only be taken, accepted, with a respect for what they have lost to the current.

It is Jim who speaks first, because it has always been Jim who took the first step in this friendship. No Commanding Officer under whom Spock served has ever asked a Vulcan to take part in recreational activities. Jim was the first.

"Hey, Spock."

Spock contemplates his reply—a greeting carries too many nuances, and Spock knows his Captain well enough to know that the words he chooses will be interpreted differently in the mind of an emotional human.

"It is good to see you again, Jim," Spock enunciates clearly. It is only his second time saying the name _Jim_ since he arrived, and the word feels foreign even as it rolls off his tongue. How much things have changed.

Spock thinks he has phrased things well, but Jim stares at him stonily and says, "Do you mean good in the emotional sense, towards our friendship, or good because it's not bad?"

Spock experiences something similar to an internal cringe—it is testament to how much they have lost touch with each other that Jim cannot see through his Vulcan exterior to the warmth behind his words.

"Our friendship is always important to me, Jim," Spock replies. "While the emotional connotations behind the word 'good' may not be apparent, rest assured that your presence has a positive effect on my mental physiology."

Jim narrows his eyes at Spock before chuckling, "I guess you can't just say you're happy to be my friend? Truly Vulcan of you."

Spock lifts an eyebrow slightly. "Without intent to reject your interpretation of my words, Jim, your paraphrasing leaves much to be desired in terms of accuracy."

At this, Jim gives in to hearty laughter. It is a sound Spock has not been privy to for entirely too long. He waits silently for Jim's laughter to subside and fade to a fond smile on the man's face.

"Heavens, Spock, it's been too long," Jim echoes Spock's earlier thoughts. For a brief moment, Spock wonders if Jim can read his mind, an illogical thought based on the fact that Jim is psi-null. The beep of the door being left open suddenly alerts Spock to the fact that he is still standing outside the Captain's quarters. In the past, he would have stepped in, but Jim has yet to extend an invitation, and he cannot be sure that he is welcomed the way he used to be.

"Come in Spock, why don't you." Jim gestures him in with a sigh. Spock takes two steps in. The door slides close with a _swish_.

"Take a seat, Spock," Jim says, glancing meaningfully at the large expanse of space Spock has placed between himself and the Captain. Spock considers the offer. He is unsure if Jim means to take a seat with him on the bed, or to take a seat on the chair near the desk, but he decides that it would be more logical to interpret it as being the latter.

Walking smartly over to the chair, Spock sits down gracefully, but not before he has caught the expression of exasperation on Jim's face.

"Damn, Spock." Jim stands up and comes over in three large steps. Spock suddenly feels apprehensive because there is too little air between them and he cannot be sure that his Captain does not intend to close the gap further. It turns out Jim only intended to drag the chair, together with the Vulcan on it, over to the bedside.

"There, at least now we're at a distance where I can actually see you," Jim says sarcastically.

Spock puzzles over the statement. "Jim, certainly your vision has not deteriorated so drastically since—" Here he pauses, because to continue with " _the time when I have been absent_ " doesn't seem quite appropriate in these circumstances. "—your grounding at Starfleet Headquarters?"

Jim smiles sadly, when in the past he would have laughed at Spock's clinical dissection of his words—he has not missed the loaded pause. "It was a joke, Spock. Why have you come over?" It is true confusion that colours his words, because Jim doesn't think they are at the point yet when they can pretend they are all set for debates on quantum physics over chess games.

Spock notes the unfortunate situation in which he has to prove Jim's doubts right. "Captain, I am puzzled by your emotional reaction to the potential destruction of my home planet. I would like to enquire as to the nature of your concern, beyond the logical amount expected from having the duty of saving a species."

A kind of resignation settles into the fine lines on Jim's face that were not in such abundance a year ago. It appears to take him considerable effort to speak, and the sigh that comes before he replies is heavy with emotion.

"Dammit, Spock, has it ever occurred to you that maybe, _maybe_ , I care about your home, too? Of course I care, because you are my friend, and I care about _you_ enough to understand how you feel about losing your home. But more than that, it pains me to imagine you existing without a Vulcan to root yourself in, even if it is your home that you ran away from me to, because I know you are part human, Spock, but you are also Vulcan."

Spock struggles to wrap his mind around the immense empathy from Jim. This is what makes Jim, Jim. This ability to understand people, and care for them in a way that is not expected of him, characterises each and every of Jim's interactions with others. It is what makes him the charismatic man he is. More than that, it is why his smiles are bright enough to warrant metaphor, why his presence can lift any man's mood, and why he is respected, and equally cared for, by those around him. It is beyond comprehension for Spock. He sets out to correct the notion that he ran away from _Jim_ , because there is no logical reason anyone would want to escape Jim's company. Spock ran away, after all, from himself, and the overwhelming emotions that were entirely insufficient to substantiate the Captain's regard for him.

"You are not responsible for my departure. The blame is not yours to carry, Jim."

Jim runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "Why, then. Why leave. Why return only now?"

Spock focuses on a spot vaguely above Jim's shoulder. They wrap themselves in the quiet tension that comes before the curtains rise. If there is a way Jim could know without speaking the question, he would take it, because anticipation is fear like nothing he has known.

Finally Spock speaks. "On the last day of our five year mission, I discovered a telepathic mating bond that had been formed without my conscious attempt. I had no knowledge of its existence until it already had shape. There are no methods for the removal of a bond, beyond the removal of emotions. Kolinahr was the only option I had as a solution to this predicament." This is said carefully, and to Jim, with all too apparent suppressed emotion. There is an obvious question to follow Spock's statements—Jim's insides soar with a lurching feeling of vertigo, and don't seem to want to settle back down.

Yet, Jim doesn't think he is ready to hear the answer, no, so instead he asks, "Why did you come back?" and silently, _Will you stay?_

Spock's lips part, and a breath leaves them, but then they close again. A silent answer, _I do not know._

"There appeared to be intense telepathic activity originating from the bond that my mental shields could not hold back. As a result, I am unable to follow the path to Kolinahr," Spock says.

Jim examines at Spock's inscrutable face of neutrality. "You know that's not an answer. Why did _you_ come back?"

Spock thinks, _because I cannot forget the brightness of your mind, because I do not know how to release you from this bond now, because I have always found answers in you, Jim._ There is none of this that Spock can say aloud.

Jim takes the lack of an answer with the grace of a man who has become used to not getting his way, which disturbs Spock in more ways than one. Jim not pushing for what he wants is one thing, but that he can do so with a practised air tells much about how things have been for the Captain.

"Spock. Who was—or, is—on the other end of the bond?"

Spock looks truly miserable in that moment.

He doesn't have to answer, not really. But here is a man who Spock owes more than his life, who bothers with making sure the Vulcan does not work double shifts, five times a week, and if anything, Jim deserves to know what he has been bound by.

"It is you, Jim," Spock says in a small exhale of air. There are many unsaid words, Jim thinks, and a mating bond does not form without _emotion_ , but it is too early to unearth them and too late for either of them to face this with fresh-faced ignorance, or perhaps even wonder if there is any way they could hold on to this.

"I don't hate it. The idea of this bond, I mean. I don't." Jim takes a deep breath, because this is the closest he's going to get to outright spelling things out for Spock. "But I figure you don't intend to stop fighting it. And I'm not going to keep fighting you."

Because feelings is no basis for an actual _thing_ , feelings has never been what they lack, they've had feelings long before they realised it, but when it came down to making a decision, they were lost on unfamiliar ground. While it may look like Jim is the assertive one, the decision maker in this partnership of theirs, Jim knows that one cannot make Spock do something he does not want to, or cannot convince himself of. It is why he does not hope to change things any longer. The nature of dulled pain and emptiness has made age catch up with him, and written in the wrinkles on his forehead is the regret of past actions, of loss. He is so, so _tired._

Spock looks at him with eyes that Jim can no longer decipher with certainty. Even so, Jim can tell the conversation has ended. Spock has decided that. Jim closes his eyes for a moment and lets himself feel belated happiness for a brief moment, before he tamps it down. By the time he looks at Spock again, he is ready to do it, to live, to survive as he has for the past year. He knows he can.

"Goodnight, Captain."

"Goodnight, Mr. Spock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't lose heart, good things are worth the wait, Jim.
> 
> Sorry for the very belated update, things have been busy! Let me know if you enjoyed reading (:


	8. Chapter 8

Insomnia has become something Jim is used to, and he can recognise the signs before he makes the wasted attempt at falling asleep. When his thoughts tick too quickly to catch, when he can't exactly remember what he did today—that's when he knows he can forget about salvaging any amount of rest that he desperately needs.

It isn't just the fact that Spock is on this ship right now, nor is it their loaded conversation that keeps Jim up. It's the sense that, perhaps, he could have chosen not to sit through that emotional mess of an interaction. He could have tried, maybe, back in the days when he was a Commodore, to forget, to live again without a certain…friend. If he is totally honest with himself, Jim knows that dramatic melancholy is hardly realistic, and the only reason he went through all that crap in the past year was because he chose to.

He remembers his former CO, and he remembers thinking at some point, _Here is a woman I could love._ There are many reasons not to get into that _now_ of all times, but Jim can't help wondering if he's some kind masochist, because this angry ache roiling beneath his ribs is almost certainly there by his own fault.

The first day Admiral Mackenzie met him at doors of Fleet Ops and guided him to his new office, she greeted every single officer that happened to be within the expanse between them and the end of the gigantic lobby area. They replied with a kind of respect that Jim recognised as loyalty earned, not loyalty by rank. The Admiralty is good, but it is not often that Admirals do _empathy._

" _I don't care for the fact that the two of us carry more medals and commendations on us than anyone else in this office. Everyone here, down to the Ensign we met at the end of the hall, knows more about Ops than you, Commodore, and I expect to see you learning from each and every one of them. Is that clear?"_

If Jim had any reason to doubt his new CO's worth after that ten minutes of walking through the lobby, it was erased by the blatant disregard she had for authority and privilege. Their command philosophy worked well together, they valued the input of all staff and of each other. Ops grew to be more efficient, more cohesive, and ran impressively like a well-oiled locomotive for such a huge department. In those few months he spent with her as his CO, he realised they made a brilliant team.

Really, they would have made a brilliant pair, too. Bones was the first to point it out to Jim, in that manner of flagrant violation of personal space that Bones spends his time honing his skills in.

" _You and the Admiral…you sure there's nothing going on, Jim? Gotta say, you two look pretty damn good together."_

" _I'm hardly a country doctor, Bones. Haven't got the time to flirt with my CO, of all people."_

Jim remembers actually considering, over long nights laced with a desperation to claw back his life, trying at this chemistry between him and Mackenzie. It was his chance at a new start. There he was wondering in the dark, if maybe he could understand being _happy_ once again. Unbelievingly (he remembers the look on Uhura's face when he told her the story), he gave it a go and made some suave comment to Mackenzie about dinner at 0700 hours and drinks till an unspecified time after. It was hardly fifteen minutes into their appetiser and soup when Mackenzie said, "I rather like you, Jim", and Jim was arrested by a strange panic of being caught in some illegal act he did not understand, because when had dating anyone save one get classified as _cheating_ in some subconscious part of his brain? He had to engage some evasive manoeuvres of a man who wanted to take his words back, which was more apologetic than embarrassing, and if in the weeks after his CO was more than slightly unpleasant, Jim figured he deserved it.

_There was a woman I could love_ , but Jim knows the subtleties between _could_ and _should_ better than most, and he's realised, by this point, that trying to pretend he doesn't need Spock is just about the least productive activity he can engage himself in. It's minimal comfort to know that there is a semblance of autonomy involved here—that if he's going to, as Bones put it months back, _leave the door open for a guest who doesn't want to enter_ , at least he made that decision out of his own free will.

He wonders if there would be any way to make Spock understand that there is no need to release Jim from a connection that he would never give up himself. He wonders if Spock even realises that love was definitely the only reason why the bond has held up, and that loving is not a one-man game. Spock contains a vast amount of knowledge expected of a Vulcan, but in all his research, he has yet to have been blessed with the understanding that while love itself is an emotion, _loving_ another being is a choice made with full awareness and a deliberate, rational mind.

They're barely holding on to a modicum of normalcy as it is, however, and Jim counts himself lucky that he can still find solid ground beneath his feet after those questions he asked tonight that toed the precarious edge between what _is_ and what _could have been._ He reminds himself of what's crucial—ensuring Vulcan comes to no harm—and tries to forget the emotional subtext that hints at it being a somewhat _personal_ mission because of one Vulcan.

The intercom buzzes and Uhura's voice rings clear across the void. "Bridge to the Captain. Captain, come in please."

Kirk stands and strides over to the intercom. "Kirk here."

"Five minutes to arrival at Vulcan, sir," Uhura says.

"I'll be up in a minute. Thank you, Lieutenant." The timing could be said to be perfect or terribly inconvenient, but at any rate Jim doesn't suppose any conclusions would have come out of further contemplation. He has years ahead to think about things that won't change, and a species is currently in great danger. Thinking can wait.

\---

It is with swift and expectant authority that Jim steps onto the bridge, calling for reports from all stations. "We are entering Vulcan space, Keptin," Chekov updates. "Zee enemy ship has an ETA of one hour, sir." Jim tries not to chuckle, because they're really only at the start of this mission and Chekov's going to be struggling with the planet's name for however long this rescue and evacuation requires.

"Mr. Spock. Beam down to Vulcan with Mr. Sulu and assist in evacuation procedures. Vulcan Space Control received the evacuation orders four hours ago; they should be in late-stage evacuation right now. Our rendezvous will be set for half an hour from now," Jim delegates with precision and clarity typical of him, which is to say he maps out the objectives and lets Spock improvise, because really, how does one supersede a Vulcan's organisational skills?

"And you, Captain?" Spock questions with the slightest of arches upon his left brow.

Jim grins. "Not beaming down for once? Bet that keeps you happy, Commander."

Spock has a rebuttal ready on how Vulcan's do not feel _happy_ , Jim is sure, but before Spock can speak, Jim cuts him off and orders him to start his assignment immediately. Spock looks thoroughly unimpressed by this time, and laughter bubbles dangerously close to the surface for Jim. He's almost forgotten how entertaining it can be to rankle his First Officer's logical facade.

Command training quickly kicks in and Jim pushes amusement aside for focusing on the task at hand. He would have liked to follow on the beam-down, but for once protocols make sense, and Jim isn't the kind of commander to risk his crew by throwing aside sensibility for personal thrills.

He feels an unease that comes with being on opposite sides of the front view screen with his First, but he doesn't think a call to check on the beam down team's status is relevant as of five minutes after they have left, so he exercises some of that restraint that comes with command training and all of the patience that comes with trusting Spock. Besides, he has preparations to make on his ship. The enemy is as yet unknown, which says something about their powers of evasion given Starfleet's substantial intelligence networks. It gives Jim nothing much to work with and a lot of room for improvisation, a description for many past missions, which renders legitimacy to the belief that the results of this mission will reflect the success of previous ones as well. He certainly hopes it does.

\---

By the time Spock and Sulu beam down, it seems Vulcan has already organised itself into the final stages of evacuation. It's hardly a monumental task to convince Vulcans to leave in a fast and organised manner, when evacuation is, after all, a most logical decision to make in the face of planetary crisis. Yet, Spock can see the cracks in some of his people's facades—the younger ones, especially, have not mastered the disciplines sufficiently to fully mask their distress at having to abandon their homeland. Patriotism is an emotional conviction of loyalty, but Vulcans uncannily do it better than most societies; despite their modern philosophy of logic, their connection with the land runs too deep in their ancestry to ignore or dispute.

After leaving Sulu with instructions to conduct final planet-wide scans to ensure no civilian has been left behind, Spock heads to the Katric Ark to locate the Vulcan High Council. It will be the first time he will be facing his parents after that failure of epic proportions to master logic at Gol, and as unprepared as Spock may be to face Sarek's chilly disapproval, there is no time for the consideration of family tensions in this time of emergency. That particular stand-off will simply have to be ignored with impassiveness that they will surely carry off well.

It is hardly surprising that the entire Council is already prepared to await instructions when Spock arrives. The redundancy of his role is not lost on him; Spock is not actually needed to provide them with the most logical course of action to safeguard their cultural heritage from being eradicated—it is simply a matter of formality that they keep up the image of taking advice from the Federation.

The elderly Vulcans accede quickly to his request to leave the Ark with immediate effect and proceed to exit with faces that betray no urgency or anxiety about the events that may soon follow. It is at times like this that Spock feels an urge from deep in the vaults of self identity to emulate the stoic lack of reaction of his elders, because there is an undeniable undercurrent of panic in his actions and words, a tremble that escapes his attempts of emotional control, and while such slips may be acceptable in adolescents, Spock clearly does not qualify to receive that kind of leniency from the elders. As much as a logical race would profess to be above acts of prejudice, if considered with scrutiny, the older Vulcans continue to view Spock in a category of his own, with more emphasis on the fact that he is part human than part Vulcan. The disproportionate amount of commendation for a logical task well fulfilled, a special footnote on official papers that highlight his qualifications _despite_ his background, small details that go towards affirmation of his _surprising_ abilities. Times like this, he would like to create an impression that he is Vulcan at his core, because the subtleties reject him as a true member of Vulcan society, and try as he might to discourage the need to feel like he belongs somewhere, Spock cannot help but notice the fractures in his identity and his disquieting attempts to seal them with a lifelong effort to embody the teachings of Surak.

As the Council heads to the specially prepared evacuation shuttle, Spock's communicator chirps a call for attention. He flips it open and Jim's voice comes through.

"Spock, wrap up evacuation, our guests are arriving soon. They're heading towards us at warp speed. I'm taking the Enterprise round to the back of Vulcan, we'll do what we can, maybe throw some asteroids in their path, have Scotty drink them under the table," jokes Jim. Spock does not think it's funny, but then again Spock does not think anything is _funny_ , so Jim doesn't actually take offence at the silence at the end of the line.

"It would be advisable, Captain, to focus given the danger of the situation," Spock says with a slight hint of disapproval that he carries well in his tone.

"Loosen up, Mr. Spock. We'll see you in a bit. Kirk out," comes the cheerful rejoinder. Spock considers the fact that in the time he has been out of the service, Jim seems to have developed a further penchant for being exasperating at the most inappropriate of times, and while Spock is not exactly _annoyed_ , it is clear there is a need to build up his mental barriers to curtail potential emotional reaction to the Captain's occasional lack of maturity.

After escorting the High Council for the last part of their jaunt to the shuttle, he dismisses himself with a quick word of "Live long and prosper". He is aware of the seconds ticking by, and takes a light jog to Vulcan Space Control to locate Sulu and conclude evacuations.

Sulu's hunched over a control station, talking urgently to the sole Vulcan officer left, who carries the severe expression of a Vulcan conveying important information, which, given the circumstances, is not likely to be a positive sign. Spock moves to the unoccupied side of the control station, and if his sudden appearance surprises the Vulcan officer, no such expression can be observed.

"You are First Officer Spock," the officer enquires in a tone that is more statement than question.

"Yes I am," Spock answers. "What are the updates on the enemy's approach?"

"The enemy vessel appears to possess superior technology. Their cloaking technology blocks all sensor signals. Beyond tracing their warp trail, I cannot lock on to an exact location. They are at least 10 minutes away from impact. I do not believe the Enterprise is capable of intercepting the vessel." There is no response for a close ten seconds, as all 3 men reconcile themselves to the unavoidable conclusion that they will have to _abandon_ Vulcan. For the two Starfleet officers, it is a sense of duty that conflicts with the idea of leaving a planet to its own destruction. For the two Vulcans, it is a disconcerting flash of understanding of loss, and an equally discomfiting sense that perhaps it is warranted to feel in such a situation. For one man, it is both.

"We better tie things up then. Officer, you have to leave the planet immediately," Sulu instructs in a grim tone. The Vulcan salutes them with the ta'al before heading out to the last of the evacuation shuttles, a weight in his footsteps that he will come to analyse over meditation in the days to come.

Sulu turns to face Spock, and his face is a mix of anguish driven by empathy and determination driven by the command instincts ingrained in him. "I suppose we should beam up to the Enterprise before they have gone too far out to trace our signals."

A disturbing thought occurs to Spock right then, and he hesitates slightly before replying. "I do not think the Captain is currently ordering the Enterprise to exit Vulcan space."

Sulu is one the most valuable of the crew for a reason, and he catches on quickly. A look of horror flits across his face. "Surely the Captain would not think of engaging the vessel directly?"

Spock would like to reply with empathic agreement that the Captain would not be that reckless, but Jim hasn't exactly made the situation of disregarding protocol for his First an anomaly in his command history, and Spock cannot say with confidence that the Captain will choose to step back in such circumstances. When it matters—and he is aware that this mission matters more than most—Jim has a tendency to calculate risks and then view said calculations with determined optimism. Spock realises abruptly that if it were him on the Enterprise, and Earth in danger, he would almost certainly be finding a way to rationalise jumping straight onto the formidable enemy vessel and intercepting them. It isn't the fact that it would be the only way to possibly save the planet. It's the silent knowledge held between a Captain and his First, that their life and everything dear to them would be protected fiercely by the other. It is the fact that Spock, part Vulcan and part human, would want, desperately _desire_ to protect what is Jim's. There is no doubt in Spock now, that Jim is planning to beam over to the other vessel right this moment, because that is what he himself would do.

Spock picks up his communicator and does not reply Sulu, who, by this time, has picked up on the implications behind Spock's continued silence. "Spock to Enterprise."

A thick Scottish accent colours the reply. "Spock! The Captain, he—"

"Beam us up now, Commander," Spock replies in clipped tones that barely restrain the urgency in his voice. " _Immediately_ , Mr Scott."

Like a tight spring, Spock heads off from the transporter immediately upon materialising. Ensigns and Lieutenants alike approach him, but immediately back off upon seeing the look on his face. There is an almost glacial quality to it, and in the wake of his Vulcan-paced walk through the corridors, the trail of officers and staff he passes are left feeling distinctly chilly. The opening of the turbolift doors to the bridge is immediately followed by a quick but focused sweep of the bridge, but the Captain's chair is empty, and Spock feels a leaden weight drop at his navel. He quickly turns to Chekov, who is the most likely to have been left with the conn with this set of bridge crew.

"Report, Lieutenant," and if his command is pitched higher than usual, no one comments on it.

"Sir, ze enemy vessel did not respond to communications, and its route was, I mean, is, set straight for Vulcan. Ze Keptin beamed over with Mr. Decker and 2 security officers. His orders were for us to stand by to beam zem back if possible, but to leave if the mission fails, sir!" Command training has held up for the most part through Chekov's report, but he is, after all, young for command, and it almost comes out at the end as a cry.

Spock himself is too busy trying to attune himself to the new experience of panic to exert any kind of calming influence over the tactical officer. He has enough of Vulcan and command in him to push the disquiet in his mind aside, relegating it to an uncomfortable whine at the edge of his consciousness. He quickly makes some orders: Uhura is to contact Starfleet for the assistance teams to increase their Warp speed in light of recent events, Chekov is to figure out the potential tactical weaknesses of the enemy vessel, Sulu is to navigate them into a wider orbit for a greater radius of sight. It is a long shot, Spock knows, and the odds are well against them. The enemy vessel's cloaking technology has proven to be significant, and he is relying on the talent of this bridge crew to assess the situation and their position by visual observation alone.

Meanwhile, he has a plan to execute. Spock looks over the bridge once more, catches the look of concern on Uhura's face, and ignores it entirely before entering the turbolift.

"Medical bay," he calls out. It is time to consult the Doctor, and while Spock has never understood the astounding lack of logic in a man of substantial qualification and expertise, he knows there is one person both he and Leonard McCoy would do most anything for. This time, Jim needs their help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are picking up!!!


	9. Chapter 9

It is very, very dark. Jim stands up from his sprawled position on the middle of a bridge that doesn't quite seem to have ends. The air is still, so much so that there is a kind of stifling pressure on Jim. His breath was knocked out of him when he fell over after materialising a feet above solid ground, so it's either that or something in the air that's making him dizzy with breathlessness. It's a very disconcerting sensation for a human used to oxygen-rich air, or, in the case of the Captain of a starship, recycled air that suffices as a substitute for the fresh atmosphere of Terran.

He hasn't quite got enough breath in to calculate his bearings, and neither have his security detail, it seems, but Jim supposes he should count himself lucky that they didn't beam right into the middle of hostile enemies. It was out of the question to attempt to reroute the vessel's trajectory with its impressive technology, but when Scotty had suggested opening a channel to get into the ship and try to attack from within, Jim thought it a worthy endeavour. It was no small feat to hack through the cloaking technology of this vessel, much less estimate the basic blue print of a vessel by exterior structure alone, and Jim thinks his Chief Engineer should have a well-earned commendation coming his way.

A clanging sound echoes from one end of the bridge, leading into a dark hallway. Jim quickly signals Decker and the two security officers before he flips himself over the edge, held up only by his fingertips clinging to the edge of the bridge. He hopes the darkness will help camouflage him and the others, especially since he's shed his command gold back on the Enterprise and is now clad in his black undershirt. The clanging nears and Jim holds his breath as it passes by and heads down the other end of the bridge that leads to a similarly gloomy passageway. Jim thanks his lucky stars that his fingers were spared the assault of boot heel crunching knuckles, and pulls himself back up before any unlucky slip can happen. The single pull up takes more effort than he's used to, which is to say it takes _some_ effort _,_ and Jim realises only now that gravity settings on this ship are substantially higher, something he missed in the adrenaline rush upon crashing down.

Jim takes a look at the men who volunteered to join him on this mission. Decker was the most surprising one out of the willing hands that shot up when he asked for volunteers. The first day Jim arrived on the Enterprise announcing Nogura's new orders and essentially robbing Decker of his opportunity to command the flagship, the man was still stuck in quarantine in med bay, unable to do much to protest in his sickly condition. It's probably professionalism combined with a desire to feel important on what was meant to be _his_ ship that made Decker put aside grudges and come on board with this.

Jim gives a nod to the three, turns, and heads down the same corridor as the crewman who had just gone past. They already had a plan clearly mapped out before beaming over, to minimise verbal communication while in unknown territory. Jim is to search for the bridge, or the closest thing to one, while Ensign Stevenson and Lieutenant Jace are to scout out an auxiliary control center, and Commodore Decker has the task of searching out main engineering. They're thinning themselves out this way, Jim knows, but the information they have on this ship is too minimal—they have no choice but to spread out and hope to find something useful. The air is uncomfortably warm, and the back of his undershirt is soaked through by the time he reaches the end of the bridge. Comms are out, Jim suspects, but he tries his luck with his communicator. The metal device emits a crackle of protest before promptly shutting itself down.

The bridge opens out into a lighted corridor. Plain brown doors line the side wall. Jim pauses to check for any unfriendly company before stepping out into the open and approaching the nearest door. There is a label above the door that states, 'Matter/anti-matter reaction chamber. The next door turns out to be 'Turbines', and following that, 'Weapons bay'. It's not in his part of the plan to scout maintenance, but they don't really have the luxury of time to argue over mission roles, so he continues to search for some kind of control room where he can possibly access the ship's navigational systems. Whoever's on this ship is seriously organised—Jim doesn't have to open any doors to figure out what is behind them.

Finally he reaches a door that's labelled 'Computer systems'. Jim palms his phaser, and sets himself in a defensive position. There's no crack, no seam through which he can attempt to get a visual of the interior of the room. He'll simply have to barge in and hopefully, luck will be on his side and the room will be empty. With an almost silent press of a button, the door slides open. The room is dark, and Jim can only use the dim light from the hallway as a guide. He gingerly steps in, looking left and right, mapping the interior of the room. It appears to be a large room, for the weak lighting doesn't quite reach the walls. He pulls out a tricorder to scan for any signs of life, but before he can start it up, a soft swish of the door closing alerts him to the redundancy of using the device. There's someone in here with him, and Jim suddenly realises with the godawful privilege of hindsight that he'd assumed the ceiling height would be the same as that on the Enterprise. He looks up, and sure enough, the room extends quite some distance upwards. Well, Jim thinks before he is hit with the stun of a phaser from behind, Bones will most likely have something to say about this when he gets back. If he gets back. Then, he promptly falls forward.

\---

A minute and 3 seconds has passed since Spock left the bridge for the medical bay. Entirely too much time has passed since Jim left the Enterprise. If Spock didn't know before how the Captain felt that day back when San Francisco was still toeing the edge of winter and spring, when Spock ran out of the doors of Starfleet Operations with the distinct frantic air of a Vulcan in distress, he certainly does now. It is his turn to be left behind, and Spock finds it sufficient to understand that there is a disproportionate amount of anger that comes with having one's command partner assume that his purposes for leaving are noble enough to rationalise such an act. A part of him protests that heading back to Vulcan for Gol doesn't quite qualify as the same thing, but the struggle to reconcile the minor differences with the larger similarities seems to have become increasingly futile in the seconds during which Spock weighs that particular thought.

When he appears at the medical bay doors, one can only describe the tone in which he calls for Doctor McCoy as a monotone so obvious in its efforts to strip itself of all emotion that it could be considered the Vulcan equivalent of getting one's shit together.

Leonard McCoy storms out of his office, muttering under his breath while reloading three hyposprays. "The idiot, thinking he's some gigantic hero, when his allergies outnumber the hyposprays this damn med bay contains…" The man reaches Spock and says, "When our goddamn Captain gets back, he's going to have one hell of a bed rest appointed by this CMO, I tell you. You make sure you comm me when he's back, the overconfident ass."

Spock is not particularly the expert at deciphering suppressed human emotions, but between the obvious loyalty Leonard McCoy has towards Jim and the unnecessary preparations of hyposprays for allergies that Jim cannot possibly be exposed to while within this side of the quadrant, he thinks it's a logical conclusion that the Doctor is worried to the core about Jim.

He has not much assurance in him to spare, but he draws out what he can when he replies, "I will be sure to inform you when the Captain is back, Doctor. Meanwhile, I require your assistance in a particular endeavour."

McCoy's fine lines tighten as he sets his mouth into a grim line. "Don't you dare go on board that ship, Spock. If you want to ignore the danger, then at least remember _protocol_ , that we can't have both the damn Captain and his Exec off the ship in a high alert situation."

Spock's left eyebrow settles itself into a comfortable arch just shy of his fringe. "I have no intention to access an unknown vessel. It would be an illogical excursion and would only serve to cede tactical ground to the enemy once they have two ranking officers within their vessel."

There is a slight twist in the atmosphere. "Well, that was unexpected," and McCoy bears an odd look on his face that almost seems like disappointment—of course, Spock can only be 85% sure of this. Disappointment hardly seems an appropriate response in this case, but Spock doesn't have the luxury of time to ponder upon the reactions of an illogical medical practitioner.

"Doctor. I will require a private room in which I will be undisturbed as I seek to assist Jim in his efforts. Nobody must come into contact with my being, nor may I be moved. It is critical, you must understand, that I be isolated from all living contact for the entirety of the time that I am engaged in my efforts." Spock says, and a mental checklist ticks off all the instructions he has clearly delivered, one at a time.

McCoy splutters in incredulity. "And how are you intending to save that infant by sitting in a locked up room, may I ask?" Spock turns this question over in his head. There really is no reason the Doctor needs to have this particular piece of information, but there's something about five years of friendship and a shared regard for Jim Kirk that makes him consider that perhaps, it might be logical for Leonard McCoy to really understand what has been going on between his two closest friends. Perhaps, Spock of Vulcan needs someone who fully understands the ongoings and can provide aid that is relevant given the circumstances. Perhaps, also, Spock needs his _friend_ , and if they have never publicly expressed their concern for each other, it is certainly not for the lack of such emotion, but rather that silent acknowledgement renders greater respect for their friendship than outward shows of empathy ever will.

"Doctor, have you heard of _p'pil'lay_?" Spock says. McCoy gives him a glare that clearly says, _obviously not_. Spock makes the wise decision to carry on without prompting. "It is the act of severing a Vulcan bond between bond mates."

It takes all but two seconds for this information to sink in before the Doctor lets his face sink into a palm and mutters through his fingers a string of profanities. "Spock," here McCoy looks up, and even before he continues Spock knows what's he's going to ask. It's not going to be a simple undertaking to answer his question adequately, but Jim is still in danger, and Spock has realised long before that attempting to explain his reasons for _p'pil'lay_ isn't something that can be done in a few minutes. It's difficult to rationalise a gut feeling, difficult to base logical actions on plain conviction of unsuitability and mismatch, but Spock knows there is a good reason why some things simply cannot be allowed to happen. It's there, but it's going to take some time to flesh out in words. And they don't have that time, not right now. So Spock returns McCoy's look with one that communicates that this is not the right time to get into the semantics of a Vulcan-Human bond. The Doctor rolls his eyes, huffs, and starts walking towards an office.

"You can use my office. I've got a makeshift bed in there, because heaven knows a doctor doesn't actually see the interior of his quarters." Only now, Spock takes a careful look around the med bay. It looks vastly different from what he remembers of the med bay he knew. This newly refitted Enterprise has been equipped with substantially more computer-controlled medical devices.

As he follows the good Doctor and steps into his office, it's an odd moment, like Spock has been holding in his breath and is only now letting out. The Enterprise may be a stranger to him, the medical bay unrecognisable, but Leonard McCoy's office still looks as it used to—with half of the med bay equipment infiltrating their way into his personal space, and a well-stocked cabinet of liquor. After drifting for a good many years between two different worlds, two different parents, Spock finds it oddly reassuring to have a semblance of familiarity in it all.

Spock settles into a meditative posture, watches the Doctor with an inscrutable expression as McCoy exits the room and locks it behind him. Finally, Spock can begin. It is time to unravel a year of work, to search for Jim—in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments appreciated!


End file.
